The Boy on the Mall
by paxmundi
Summary: FBI Agent Booth enlists the help of an unlikely partner in the form of Dr. Temperance Brennan when a dead body turns up on the National Mall. Can they survive the truth of the victim's identity and each other long enough to discover the true murderer?
1. Chapter 1 Prologue, The Referral

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters for Bones...I just gently play with them and place them back on the shelf where I found them.**

**My fellow Bones fans, I admit to suffering a crisis of faith in our good show. Dare I say that I felt cheated with the end of the 100th episode (both with the flashback and the end of the episode). I guess I was expecting more fireworks and less 'sparkler' then to have Brennan deny her feelings for Booth after building us up all season…well it was more than my poor muse could take. My little fic here has been left unfinished, and to be honest there were times I just wanted to scrap the whole thing. Still, a lot of you have invested your time into reading it, and BB certainly invested her time being my beta, so I have decided at long last to pick up the pen once more. This new season of Bones has once again offered up a glimmer of hope so my muse has decided to move back in. We'll see if we can be better roommates this time around ;). For my old and new readers, I have decided to re-tool the existing chapters, making them (I hope) richer, and a better literary experience. Please let me know what you think…and BB if you are still out there, I could use a beta!**

Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth was used to standing out from the crowd among his fellow FBI agents. His admittedly colorful ties and somewhat less than regulation sox garnered more than their fair share of backwards glances. Prowling around the sterile, well ordered halls of the J. Edgar Hoover Building's forensic laboratory wing, he was forced to admit that this morning he probably stood out more than normal. He would have been more comfortable back in his own office (three floors up, two wings over) with his things, surrounded by people with whom he could converse. As a group of lab-coated technicians passed him by chatting quietly about God knew what, he brutally repressed an urge to shudder. Among the scrubs and paper bootie set here in the lab, an intimate knowledge of all things Star Wars, Trek, Gate etc… would obviously be required. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the work these…squints…contributed to his cases, they were damn good at whatever it was they did, it was more a general sense of not belonging in their world. He knew that, in the end, police work, and not forensics, solved cases. It was a truth that he clung to as tightly as he clung to his Catholic faith…still a little damming evidence uncovered by the lab monkeys around him didn't hurt matters either. Even as his psychological training told him all of this, Booth still couldn't help himself from slightly over compensating. He smirked just a little too easily, sauntered just a little too casually and probably would have bitten the head off of anyone who would have dared point these things out to him…anyone, but the man whose door he found himself standing outside of.

"Is he in?" he asked in his best 'all business no frills' tone, and tilted his chin towards the closed inner office door.

Rochelle DiGuardia was a deceptively pretty jersey girl who ran the medical examiner's office (and other receptionists) like an Italian mother-in-law turned drill sergeant. Her thick black hair had been teased to new heights today forcing Booth to wonder if her eyelids would squeak when she blinked. Rochelle turned one stony glare up to him, and instantly softened when she noticed who it was.

"And good morning to you too _very_ Special Agent Booth." She purred as she gave him a none too subtle once over.

Booth felt his mouth go dry as he felt the beginnings of a blush work its way up from his starched white shirt collar. It didn't go unnoticed by him that a lot of women (and probably a few guys) gave him more than a passing glance. While most guys Booth knew would preen or maybe even strut over the extra attention, he was never 100% comfortable being in the passenger seat when it came to personal interactions. If there was one thing Booth hated more than anything else, it was feeling off his game. This morning, and the case he'd managed to catch last night when more sensible people were in bed, had done nothing but pitch him curveball after curveball.

"Ummm…hey Rocky," he began, instantly hating the slight nervous tremor his voice had taken on "I wanted to see if Ty had anything back yet on my case. Is he in?"

The receptionist smirked at him from behind too red lipstick and nodded "Sure thing hun, he's in till 1:30."

Booth thanked her and forced himself to walk casually to the first door on his right.

Tyler Kennedy had served as a navy corpsman during the second Gulf War. Big, jovial and determined in that order, he'd gotten his left leg blown off by an IED for his troubles. Upon discharge, he turned his medical studies to forensics. Though his job by definition made him one of the squints, Kennedy was as down to earth as they came, and in Booth's opinion the FBI was lucky to have him. He paused for a moment before rapping his knuckles against the doorjam.

Kennedy looked up from the papers he'd been studying and ran a hand over the smooth ebony skin of his shaved head "Booth! You bring me some lunch? I'm starvin' like Marvin up in here."

Booth laughed at the large man's hopeful expression, his earlier discomfort forgotten "Sorry Ty, no lunch today. Believe me you don't want what they've got down in the cafeteria anyway."

Kennedy shook his head "Damn shame. If the terrorists don't get us first, food services will. Well, if you aren't here to treat me to lunch, you must be here about your john doe."

Booth nodded, holding his breath. John Doe's unidentified remains had been found by a grounds crew clearing an old steam tunnel that ran under the National Mall. The D.C. Police had been all too willing to turn the remains, with their implied cold case and political ramifications, over to the Bureau. To Booth this was a case of shit rolling uphill, and it had splattered in all its smelly glory right on his desk.

Kennedy looked at him as if he knew exactly what was going through the special agent's head "I'm sorry Booth."

"Awww…come on Ty," Booth growled out in exasperation "don't give me that. No wallet, no ID, no fingerprints…I need something to go on. All I have is one dead body and a pile of garbage that may or may not belong to half the squatters in DC. You guys are killing me here!"

"I didn't say I came up totally empty," Kennedy held up one of his big hands to stem the tirade "but what I have is pretty damn slim: Male, Caucasian, late teens to early twenties, 5'11", probably about 160 to 180 pounds. Cause of death is still undetermined. What little tissue remained showed definite signs of trauma, but it's possible that it could have been afflicted post mortem. We just can't say for sure Booth, the remains…well…there isn't much left to go on. It's going to take more time than just 24 hours, and we haven't even started trying to put that skull back together for facial reconstruction."

Booth grunted as he jotted everything down "What about DNA? Any hits in COTIS, or Missing and Exploited?"

Kennedy sighed and shook his head "The lab's backed up for a good six weeks already with DNA from that mess going on in San Francisco. BHU seems to think they've got a serial killer, you know that takes precedence. Sorry man, but unless our techs find something that makes your john doe a threat to National Security, it looks like we're going to have to put him back on ice for a while."

Booth dropped his arms to his sides and leaned back against Kennedy's doorframe "Great, just great…no hair color, no eye color…no face. It's the National Mall for crying out loud! Cullen's breathing down my neck on this one."

"And this has nothing to do with the fact that the body was a kid?" Kennedy asked dryly, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Booth rolled his head and shoulders, trying to loosen the knot he felt forming there "it's just…someone out there knows who this is. Maybe someone loved him. I don't know. Either way he deserves some answers, he deserves my best effort…and maybe some justice."

Kennedy fought hard to keep his smile from showing "Did anyone ever tell you that you suffer from an overly developed sense of honor?"

Booth shot the larger man a baleful glare which only elicited a deep chuckle.

Kennedy held up his hand once more "Alright, alright…listen. I know someone who might be able to help. Her name is Doctor Temperance Brennan and she's a forensic anthropologist with the Jeffersonian Institute."

Booth looked doubtful "You're turning me over to a civilian squint?"

Kennedy barked out another laugh "She'd probably kick your ass if you called her that. Look Seeley, she's the best there is. I worked side by side with her after 9/11 identifying human remains…I've never seen anything like it. She reads bones the way you read people."

Booth considered his friend's words for a moment "Do you think she would be able to give me a positive ID?"

"No guarantees," Kennedy replied honestly "If she's available, and I've got to tell you brother that's a mighty big 'if', she's going to want to see the body and every shred of physical evidence you've got. Hell, she'll probably want to see more! That'll take some doing on your part with Cullen, but I guarantee the call is worth the headache. It's that or wait six weeks for your DNA results."

Booth's jaw set as he once again railed against the feeling that this case was bucking out of control, and he finally sighed as he made up his mind "Make the call Ty, I'll go tell Cullen." He turned to leave and paused at the door "And…thanks."

"Mmmhmm," Kennedy smiled "just keep me in mind next time you head over to Wong Foo's."

Two hours later, with Cullen's sullen and angry threat of 'fuck this up and your ass is busted down to junior field agent in the accounting division' still ringing in his ears, Booth supervised the loading of his evidence into a dark blue paneled truck helpfully supplied by his newly formed contacts at the Jeffersonian Institute.

He didn't know much about the place, other than the few weekends he'd taken his son Parker to look at the attached museum's vast holdings. It had been awhile since they had last been. All he could recall was a faint impression of echoing marble halls, grinning dinosaur skeletons and placid Egyptian statues. Nothing in this simple memory told him how a team of over glorified historians could possibly assist him with his case. Booth once again found himself awash in doubt as his fingers twitched against the poker chip he kept in his pocket. In a past life, not so long ago, he'd been a binge gambler accustom to wagers that seemed more in line with Vegas whales than modest FBI agents. It was a lifestyle, with all of its empty promises that he thought he'd sworn off for good…yet here he was. Try as he might to justify his decision to have his evidence looked at by the Jeffersonian squints, he couldn't escape the feeling that he'd just made a bet to end all bets.

"Agent Booth," one of the FBI interns looked at him expectantly "we're ready to go sir, if I could just get your signature on these custody forms?"

"Buyer's remorse." Booth grumbled to himself, baring down just a little too hard with his pen and fighting the impression that he was signing his life away.


	2. Chapter 2 The Interrupted Lunch

The delicious smells of curry and freshly baked naan created an exotic potpourri in Doctor Temperance Brennan's office. To Angela Montenegro, the spicy fragrance was comfort food of the highest degree. After a week of highlighting Pre-Columbian pictographs for an upcoming exhibit, the young forensic artist felt she was due a little comfort.

"You're thinking about work aren't you?" Brennan's smoky voice pulled her from her reverie.

"How would you know Miss 'Psychology is a soft science'?" Angela teased back as she looked up to see her lunch partner gazing at her curiously.

Brennan' s lips tugged up into one of her rare smiles "It is a soft science, and you always get that look on your face when you think about work." She tore a piece from her flatbread and flicked it playfully at the artist.

Angela squealed and retaliated with a pickled onion "You try to make sense out of dried blood on bark scrolls that have been weathered by a few centuries in someone's tomb. I was starting to go cross-eyed."

"FOOD FIGHT!" Doctor Jack Hodgins bellowed good naturedly as he entered the office with a stack of manila folders.

As always, he was closely shadowed by Brennan's new assistant Zach Addy "I thought Doctor Goodman was specific after the last time…."

Hodgins turned and gave the younger man an exasperated look "It was a joke Zach."

Angela exchanged a brief glance with Brennan, who rolled her eyes indulgently. For the better part of two weeks, Brennan's team had been called on to verify and catalog a massive find of Pre-Columbian artifacts. For Doctor Daniel Goodman, the Jeffersonian's director, it had been a minor coup to steal the exhibit away from other major metropolitan museums. For Brennan and company it had been a project that took them on a journey that ranged from scientific curiosity to bafflement and back again.

Hodgins made his way to a vacant seat and dropped his files next to his chair. He stretched his compact frame out, extending hands and feet in a graceful yoga move, before sighing in relief "There is no way we're going to make that deadline. I have over a quarter of my department tied up with this project and we're only half way through the grain stores and pollen samples the archeological team dropped off yesterday."

"It would have helped, Brennan agreed as she passed him his order of butter chicken "if they delivered everything at once. I'm a few days behind on the next chapter of my book."

"How's that coming along by the way?" Zach asked as he perched carefully on the arm of Brennan's sofa.

Temperance ducked her head, still embarrassed that her secret was out. After a few calls from various publishers, her agent had finally settled on one. Much to Brennan's dismay, the publisher expressed their pleasure by sending over a very large, very expensive wine basket to her office during business hours. The Jeffersonian was a professional institution of the highest degree, but even serious minded lab technicians could gossip like old women at a church social.

"I feel as if I am at a very critical point in the development of my plot, but my work here has to take priority."

"Brennan has writer's block." Angela helpfully translated.

"I do not!" Brennan denied over Zach and Hodgins' guffaws.

"Sweetie," Angela grinned wryly "you know I love what I've read so far but…."

"But?" Brennan sat forward, anxious to hear her friend's feedback.

"Well…the FBI agent who's going to be Kathy Reichs' love interest…he's a little two dimensional."

Brennan nodded "I was worried about that, but honestly I haven't decided if I am going to…make them lovers or not."

Angela shook her head and laughed. Not having the capacity to lie was one of Brennan's best qualities in her opinion. "Trust me sweetie, when they wind up in bed together, I want enough details to picture him in my head."

"No fair!" Hodgins squawked with mock indignation "How come Angela is the only one who gets a free preview? If the rest of us are going to be in your book, we should get a chance to read it too."

Brennan heaved an exasperated sigh "For the last time, none of you are in my book. It is a work of mostly fiction with characters that are, by definition…."

"Mostly fictional." Hodgins cut her off, a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes "So tell me, did you make your bug and slime guy a total stud?"

"That would be the fictitious part." Angela quipped, and everyone burst into laughter except for Zach.

He frowned as if deep in thought "I don't understand."

The general laughter was cut short by the sound of someone clearing their throat. As a unit, the team looked over to the entrance and into the amused face of Doctor Daniel Goodman.

"My apologies for interrupting lunch," his warm baritone washed over the room "but I was wondering if I may have a word."

"Certainly," Brennan gestured to the only open seat "we were just discussing my new book."

She ignored the sounds of someone quietly humming the 'Imperial March' from Empire Strikes Back as Goodman moved to where he could address them more easily.

"Ah yes, the mystery you are working on." The Doctor smiled with polite interest

"The science is sound of course," Brennan stated without a hint of arrogance "not at all like how current popular culture portrays forensic science on television."

"Just be careful not to alienate your target audience Doctor Brennan," Goodman offered "it's called popular culture for a reason after all. Now…as to why I interrupted your lunch. Our friends at the FBI have requested our assistance in examining the remains of a john doe discovered on the National Mall two days ago. I assured them that they would have our full cooperation."

The office was quiet for two heartbeats before erupting in a series of heated yells.

"No way," Hodgins sneered "they have their own lab. My department is already working at full capacity on the Pre Columbian project as it is."

"I'm with Hodgins on this one," Angela shook her head "I have to recover images from a thousand year old scroll of bark, and that's going to take some special imaging."

Brennan fought to keep the fury she felt building in the pit of her stomach at bay "Doctor Goodman, our findings on the Pre-Columbian exhibit are due tomorrow, there is clearly no room to add more work. Hodgins is correct; the FBI has a lab full of technicians who are perfectly capable…."

Goodman pursed his lips as he looked around at four sets of accusatory eyes "People, this is not open for debate. I've decided to push the announcement of our findings on the Pre-Columbian exhibit back till next week. These remains were discovered practically on the doorstep of our nation's capital and must take temporary precedence. Naturally they want answers that are beyond the FBI's current capacity to offer. Need I remind you that the Jeffersonian is dependent on public as well as private funding to continue our research; assisting the FBI with identifying this unfortunate would present a very positive face to our current as well as future benefactors."

He looked around once more, seeing curiosity more than anger now among his colleagues…though Jack Hodgins was reaching up under his lab coat sleeve to snap a rubber band he wore around his wrist "We have been presented with an opportunity to demonstrate this lab's skills to our nation's top law enforcement agency. As you know, the Jeffersonian has performed consultation work for the FBI in our nation's history. If this partnership goes well, it could mean more work and greater exposure. Doctor Brennan, you specifically were referred by a Doctor Tyler Kennedy."

"Ty," Brennan said with a knowing smile "we worked together after 9/11. His approach is…somewhat different than my own, but the FBI is fortunate to have him."

"Excellent," Goodman's relief at settling everything so quickly was palpable "the Special Agent in Charge will be delivering the remains and evidence bags this afternoon. Ms. Montenegro would you do the honors of escorting our guest back once he arrives?" He turned without waiting for Angela's response and left the office as abruptly as he had come; making it clear once again that he had not asked so much as told each of them what their new assignment was to be.

"Spending a whole afternoon staring at something other than Nahuatl…I'm in." Angela sighed "Even if it is staring at dead things."

"Isn't staring at dead things what we do?" Zach asked helpfully.

"Maybe _you_ do." Angela grumbled under her breath.

Hodgins dug into the remainder of his lunch "I just hope they don't send us some lunk head with no appreciation for hard science."


	3. Chapter 3 The Doctor and the Lab

When a helpful security guard had ushered Booth through to the Jeffersonian's loading dock, he had pictured a discreet concrete pad with room for one…maybe two trucks. When His SUV and the panel truck following him had been directed into a space that was obviously meant to be an airport hanger for a very _very_ expensive jet, he felt his jaw drop.

Booth had just shifted into park when a small army of technicians in blue lab coats, gloves and masks swarmed over the evidence as if they were ants at a picnic. They had it unloaded with military precision and every single article checked in before the disoriented FBI agent really had time to get his bearings.

"Agent Booth," a man Booth took to be the loading dock foreman was holding a clipboard and looking up at him expectantly "if you'll just sign here sir to confirm the transfer of evidence, someone from the forensics lab will be down to get you momentarily."

Booth shook himself, realizing he'd been staring a little too long judging by the foreman's smirk "Sorry…it's just this isn't like any loading dock I've ever been on. "

The man, his name tag identified him as Ted Walker, just nodded "Yes sir. We receive any number of artifacts from all over the world, even The Ministry of Antiquities in Egypt, it's important to our guests that they know their property is being well treated. As you can imagine, a lot of it is both fragile as well as highly valuable. The receiving area here is temperature controlled, constantly monitored and all of our staff is carefully vetted. Our attention to detail is better than anything you're going to encounter at the Port."

"Yeah," Booth agreed, his warm brown eyes taking in the clean, brightly lit space "that would be kind of hard to do if you're dodging rats the size of Volkswagens and sucking up diesel fumes I guess."

Ted offered him an efficient smile "And then some."

Angela waited as the last evidence box was brought up the cargo elevator before stepping in and closing the door behind her. She hadn't been able to prevent herself from shuddering when the first item out had been a long black body bag. No matter how many times they had been through similar drills, whether in person or telecommuting, she could never get use to seeing one…or its contents. Part of her rebelled against the notion of ever getting use to it, of ever becoming like Brennan or Hodgins and being able to compartmentalize her feelings. As the smooth hydraulic lift pulled her down to the loading dock, she mentally prepared herself to get her head back in the game. This wasn't the first set of human remains she'd ever worked on, nor (she was at loathe to admit) would it be the last. She couldn't escape the feeling that this case would be something more than any of them (with the possible exception of Brennan) had ever experienced.

"This is going to change everything." She muttered to herself, then immediately discarded the feelings as nerves.

The lift finally stopped, its pleasant chime an odd juxtaposition to her mood, and she quickly scanned the loading dock for her guest. Angela paused mid-stride when her eyes came to rest on the broadest pair of shoulders she'd ever seen in a trench coat. Suddenly the afternoon didn't look so bad.

"_Helllooo Agent Hottie_," she thought to herself "_covering up a body like that should be a sin. Of course, watch him turn around now and be fugly or have a muffin top_."

As if he was reading her mind, Mr. Black Trench turned around, and Angela nearly swallowed her tongue. Not only did his rumpled white shirt pull tight over a belly flat enough to serve tea on, but he had the kind of smoldering good looks that belonged on the cover of GQ.

"_Christ, he's not a G-man…he's a freaking underwear model_." Angela bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and instead strode right up to the stranger with her hand extended.

"Special Agent Booth?"

Booth turned at the sound of elevator doors opening and froze. A gentle breeze had kicked up in the vast warehouse, stirring the full brown hair of the woman approaching him. Her features were a pleasant blend of Asian/Caucasian, and the broomstick skirt she wore low on her hips did nothing to disguise her willowy figure. For just a moment Booth would have sworn time slowed down, and he could hear an 80's power ballad playing in his head like a scene out of an old movie as the alluring woman approached.

He extended his own hand, capturing her smaller, cooler one "Doctor Brennan?"

Angela laughed at the agent's hopeful tone "Not even close. I'm Angela Montenegro, forensic artist in residence here at the Jeffersonian. I work in the Medico Legal Lab. Doctor Goodman asked me to bring you up to meet the rest of our team."

"Right," Booth recalled hearing a deep, well spoken voice over Cullen's phone when the director had called to make arraignments. "I believe Doctor Goodman spoke with my Director to set everything up. So…you work here? This is some kind of place."

"Nearly two years now. I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole during my first month here." Angela turned to him and smiled apologetically "Sorry, I know how cliché that sounds, but it's true. And yes, the Jeffersonian is a major operation. It was founded as a sort of brain trust in back in 1781 by Thomas Jefferson to collect the Nation's best and brightest. Since then we've expanded to include International Studies, History, Art and…"Angela trailed off as the lift stopped once again and Seeley Booth caught his first glimpse of the lab "Science." She finished with another small grin. "Welcome to Wonderland Agent Booth."

Booth struggled to find his voice as he took in the vast open space with its soaring glass ceiling. Early afternoon sunlight shown through, painting the room's sleek modern lines with touches of amber and red. All around him people in blue lab coats busied themselves with various projects, and his head swam wondering if any of them pertained to his case. Abruptly his wonderment ceased, and a tiny crease of worry appeared on his forehead. Maintaining the chain of evidence in this cavern of a room was going to be impossible. He had to get a handle on things quickly.

"Ms. Montenegro, is any of this mine?"

"No," Angela touched his arm and pointed to a series of ancient stone figures "and it's Angela, please. We've been knocking ourselves out cataloguing and authenticating pieces for an upcoming Mezzo American exhibit. We're under a pretty tight deadline, and most of the work you see being done is on that find. Your items," She directed his attention to a large raised platform that dominated the room's center "are up there. As you can see we keep security guards posted at each checkpoint, and each side requires a security card to enter. Most of us are forensic experts of some sort, and we're often called on to provide expert testimony in Federal trials. The US District Attorney insisted we institute some kind of security measures to help us maintain chain of evidence." Angela paused as a couple of technicians walked around them "Between you and me, it's really more of an oversight. Doctor Brennan is highly ethical when it comes to evidentiary proceedings. You may hear a lot of the guys around here claim to be King of the Lab, but in reality, we're only loyal subjects of the Queen." She finished with a wink. "If you follow me, I'll introduce you to Doctor Brennan."

Somewhat mollified Booth relaxed and allowed his pleasant guide to lead him deeper into the lab "She sounds like a real pistol, your Doctor Brennan."

"She's my best friend," Angela said lightly, though Booth thought he could detect a note of warning in her tone "and an extremely gifted scientist."

"I'm sorry Ms…Angela," Booth apologized "I didn't mean for that to come out like it sounded." He made a snap decision to repair this particular bridge with a dose of truth "I guess I'm just a little out of my element here. It's a lot to take in at once."

"No harm, no foul Agent Booth." She offered him that dazzling smile once again, and Booth knew instantly that she meant it "I feel like that on a daily basis here. Like a fish out of water sometimes, but if you work around here long enough you get use to the sensation."

Angela stepped up to the main platform, slid her ID badge through a card reader and immediately approached the cluster of people gathered around a lighted autopsy table. Booth followed at a professional distance, his misgivings once again a distant memory as he focused on the task at hand. Two men and one other woman were just in the process of unzipping the body bag when he stepped into their field of vision.

Angela cleared her throat bringing her teammates to attention "Everyone, this is Special Agent Booth. He's the FBI agent in charge of this investigation. Agent Booth, this is Doctors Brennan, Hodgins and Doctor Brennan's assistant Zach Addy."

"Agent Booth." the woman who Angela introduced as Doctor Brennan addressed him with a smoky voice.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting when he met Temperance Brennan. He'd read her file, reviewed her security clearance, but he had lost interest after reviewing the second page of her numerous academic achievements. The biography photo was decidedly absent from her file with a brief note that it was being updated. All of it led Booth to picture a woman in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. Nothing in Brennan's curriculum vitae had prepared him for the woman who now regarded him coolly. Her long brown hair had been swept back and twisted into a makeshift bun out of necessity, but on her it looked sexy as hell. The smooth, elegant lines of her face and neck didn't need anything beyond the subtle eye makeup she wore to enhance her remarkable blue eyes. Whatever else she was, Doctor Temperance Brennan obviously was secure enough in her own appearance that she didn't feel the need to put on airs. She radiated a quiet strength, a person who was totally at ease with her surroundings and her place in it.

He hadn't realized he'd been staring quite so long until she quirked one perfect eyebrow and turned the full power of those calculating eyes on him "Agent Booth…is something wrong?"

Booth took a breath, once again deciding truth was his best option here "Sorry, I guess I was just expecting someone older?"

Brennan's face once again became smooth and unreadable as she turned her attention back to the body bag "So was I."

Booth fired a glance over to the two men, the younger of which looked like he should be flipping burgers down at Burger Town, and the elder who looked like he was trying his best to keep a straight face.

"I feel like I just missed something." The younger man, Zach, said his voice slightly deadpan and unsure.

This time Booth was positive he heard a snicker from the older looking of the two who just shook his head and turned his back to gather a few specimen jars.

"Zach," Brennan admonished gently "please direct your focus back to the task at hand. First impressions are critical."

"Yes Doctor Brennan." came the immediate reply, and Booth wasn't at all sure that Brennan was talking about the FBI presence in her lab.

"Tell me what you see." Brennan instructed as she flipped back the bag's rubberized cover "since we did not have the benefit of observing these remains at the scene, our powers of observation are even more crucial in establishing identity and cause of death."

"Massive damage to the sphenoid, zygomatic, maxillia and mandible." The floppy hair kid intoned "It looks as if someone didn't want our victim to be easily recognized."

"Supposition?" Brenan asked, a hit of warning in her tone.

"Based on facts in evidence." Zach defended, and Booth thought he could detect the faintest hint of petulance in the kid's response.

Brennan evaluated her intern for a moment, at least long enough that the kid started to squirm, before turning her attention back to the skull "I concur. Excellent work Zach."

"Is…he a student?" Booth asked Angela who had drifted back to his side unnoticed until now.

He cocked his eyebrow and turned to look at her when she didn't answer him right away. The young artist's lips were pursed as she appeared to be mentally wording her response.

"Zach is a student intern," Angela confirmed "and Brennan's process for selecting him made the application process for Julliard look like buying a ticket to Disneyworld."

"Still," Booth grumbled "I don't know if I'm 100% comfortable with a student taking such an active role in an FBI investigation."

"Mr. Addy is currently pursuing dual PhDs in forensics and applied physics." Brennan spoke up before Angela could reply, thus proving that her hearing was as impeccable as the rest of her. "I trust his suppositions before I trust many others."

"You'll have to forgive me, Doctor Brennan," Booth said louder "if it takes more than some credentials to earn my trust. It's been my experience that there's a lot of street smarts that separate academic from actuality."

Brennan looked at him for a moment as if she had just heard a homeless man passionately quote Shakespeare, and that impression annoyed Booth to no ends. He had been to college too after all.

"With all due respect, Agent Booth," Brennan proffered as she turned her attention once more to the body "it has been _my _experience that the two are not mutually exclusive.


	4. Chapter 4 The Truth in the Bones

Thirty Minutes Later…

Low murmuring rumbled from the squint squad as they poured over every inch of Booth's john doe. At this point they had taken a few scrapings, ghosted over the body with their detached looks, and finally pronounced the victim's age, race, gender and height. Booth stepped back, after being warned that he was, under no uncertain terms, allowed to touch _his evidence_ with bare hands. The second 'evidence contamination' speech had him fighting the urge to punch something so he folded his arms over his broad chest and stalked away. His dark eyes flashed with menacing intensity whenever his gaze darted up again and caught Angela looking at him. She flashed him an apologetic shrug that did nothing to alleviate the fire burning through his veins. Brennan was a hot headed, arrogant, entitled femi-nazi who hadn't told Booth a god damned thing about his john doe that he didn't already know. He'd begged Cullen…actually gone to the man's office with metaphorical hat in hand and begged…to make this happen. He'd put his reputation on the line, proverbially kissed Cullen's proverbial ring and all he'd gotten was burned by this supermodel ice queen doctor. What burned him even more was that the only other person, outside of his family, who could push his buttons like this was Rebecca.

Thinking of his son's mother only served to darken his mood to the point that he thought he might explode. Booth leaned back against the railing, his fists safely tucked under his arms so that no one could see his knuckles whiten ever so slightly. He had never struck a woman, not even in the line of duty, and he never would. His own broken childhood and his evenly spoken grandfather had been enough to deter him from ever committing that particular sin. A certain punching bag, however, would be getting one hell of a work out later on tonight.

"He was athletic," Brennan announced as if she were talking about a vaguely interesting bug "between 180 to 190 pounds. Early childhood break on the upper right tibia most likely caused by an accident or a fall. More recent damage here on the left fibula…." She trailed off, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Despite his mood, Booth found himself straightening up with interest, though he didn't trust himself to approach the table just yet.

"Hodgins, what do you make of this?" Brennan pulled a magnifying glass over an exposed patch of bone.

Booth watched as the older of the two men joined Brennan "Looks like metal particulates of some sort embedded in the bone."

"Irregular shaped, possibly a mix of household items…." The curly haired Doctor looked up with a triumphant expression "It's shrapnel, gotta be."

"Yes," Brennan nodded thoughtfully "see the pitting and scarring from the pieces already removed? Zach, have a look."

Brennan's assistant turned on one of the flat screen monitors behind him and Booth could see a magnified image of what had gotten them all excited. Though he'd never been this up close and personal with it before, he'd seen his share of shrapnel wounds. The squints were right on the money.

"No significant remodeling has occurred around the remaining pieces," Zach replied to a question Booth hadn't heard Brennan ask "and the repair work appears to have been done in haste…a battlefield injury perhaps?"

"I'll take some samples," Hodgins reached for a clean probe excitedly "if we're lucky one of these little babies will tell us were our dead veteran was injured."

"You can tell all of that just by looking at his bones?" Booth frowned, now totally interested in spite of himself.

"It's a rational hypothesis given then evidence presented, Agent Booth" Brennan said defensively.

"I'm not doubting you," Booth soothed "I just don't know how our lab missed it."

"Most likely they didn't," Zach addressed him for the first time "they simply did not feel it was evidence pertinent to your case at hand."

"_Are you even old enough to be here_?" Booth thought to himself as he took in the kid's disheveled appearance.

Without acknowledging the kid's presence, he turned his attention back to Brennan who he was surprised to still find looking at him "It may be nothing, Agent Booth, but it may be something that leads us to this young man's identity. We must consider all facts, even those not in evidence."

"Do your thing, Doctor Brennan," Booth said as he once again relaxed back against the railing "I'm just looking for some answers."

Something he said must have rankled Brennan because a momentary look of disappointment crossed her lovely features before her mask of indifference settled back in place "Answers you'll get then, Agent Booth. Zach, please take the remains to be x-rayed and start on tissue markers for Angela. Let me know when you are done and I will check your work."

"I'm going to start on my samples and compare them to the FBI's results." Hodgins collected his tray and turned to go "This may take a while man," he said not unkindly as he passed Booth "if you want to go grab dinner or something. We'll call you when we're ready."

One Hour Later….

Brennan flipped on the lightbox in her office and studied john doe's freshly developed x-rays, reconstructing the bones mentally and flinching internally whenever she came across another fracture. Were it scientifically possible for one human being to be manually reduced to pulp by another, Booth's john doe came as close as she had ever seen.

"Fracture of the sternum and ribcage, hairline fracture of the T4,5 and 6 vertebra, shattered hip …Ange…I've seen trauma like this in mass graves, victims of genocide, but not here. This…this took a lot of anger." Brennan shook her head "I've seen this before. You'd think I would be use to it by now."

"Bren," Angela ventured as she looked up from the sketch she was working on "if you ever start getting use to any of this, it's time to pack up shop and seek therapy. Zach did a great job with these tissue markers by the way."

"He's good," Brennan admitted quietly "quite possibly the most brilliant student I've ever mentored, but he seems very socially awkward. He needs exposure out in the field."

Angelia chuckled, turning her attention back to her sketch.

"What?" Brennan regarded her with a bemused expression on her face.

"Nothing…" Angela hedged "well…it's just funny hearing that statement come from you."

"What do you mean? I consider myself to be socially well rounded. I go on dates with Peter, we have dinner and converse."

"Riiight." Angela drawled out "Peter…didn't he accuse you of being frigid?"

Brennan's lips pressed in a firm line "He said I was emotionally cold and distant. It's hardly the same thing. Sexually we are very compatible. Peter is an adequate partner."

Angela smirked "Sweetie, if you two are just 'adequate' and 'compatible', then you aren't doing it right. You need a man that'll make it worth calling into work late on a Monday. "

"I don't get it." Brennan shook her head, mystified as she frequently was when her friend discussed sex.

"No," Angela teased "it's pretty obvious that you don't. Now if you woke up next to someone like…Booth for example…."

Brennan's face colored and she turned her full attention back to the x-rays

"You're delusional. That man is an unmitigated ass."

"And what an unmitigated ass! Oh my gawd sweetie did you SEE that ass? And those pecs…."

"Angela!" Brennan looked at her friend, now completely scandalized "He storms in here like he owns the lab, and all we are to him are tools to get his answers. He doesn't even care about the victim, he just wants to close this case and get it off his desk. Did you see how dismissive he was of Zach…of me? No, I find nothing, gluteus maximus, pectoral or otherwise about Agent Booth remotely appealing."

"Your neck is flushed." Angela groused.

"From irritation, no doubt." Brennan growled, contemplating the images of bone in silence until her shoulders dropped in defeat. "I'm sorry Ange, it's been a difficult week."

Angela sighed "I know Bren, for all of us. At least I think I have a face to go with Booth's john doe, what do you think?"

"He was very handsome," Brennan commented as she looked at Angela's sketch, tracing her fingers lightly over the chiseled features "and far too young to have his life ended like this." She glanced back at the images of shattered bone.

"I think I have a name to go with our john doe!" Hodgins bustled into the lab and stopped short at the look on his co-worker's faces. "Am I interrupting something?"

He looked at each of the women, obviously detecting the emotionally charged atmosphere the way a groundhog might detect its shadow. From the expression on his face, or so Anglea judged, Hodgins' response would likewise be very groundhog-esque.

"No," the artist responded quickly "I was just showing Brennan my finished sketch."

"Yes," Brennan confirmed "I was just remarking on how young our victim was. What were you able to find Dr. Hodgins?"

"Meet Private First Class Michael Bowers, United States Marine Corps." Hodgins held up his computer printout and compared it to Angela's sketch.

"I wish I could say it looks like we have a winner." Angela shook her head.

"There's more to it than that," Hodgins replied grimly "PFC Bowers was about to become a private citizen once again…forcibly. Do you remember that 60 Minutes segment about six months ago about Don't Ask Don't Tell?"

"Oh my god!" Angela gasped "I thought his face looked familiar. Bowers was the only survivor when a roadside bomb in Mosul took out his unit. He was going to receive some big commendation, and he came out on 60 Minutes instead. After that he just vanished. "

"Everyone thought the government discharged him and hushed it up." Hodgins shook his head "Oh man."

"I'll call Agent Booth." Brennan felt the icy fingers of dread tickle down her spine. What they had uncovered was potentially explosive for everyone involved.

She hoped all of them, Booth included were ready for the aftermath.

One Hour Earlier, in Georgetown…

The early dinner crowd at Wong Foo's was its usual mix of beltway bandits and Georgetown hipsters-in- the- know. Everyone, from senators to cab drivers, knew the best Chinese food in DC was at Sid's place. As he moved through the black lacquered moon gate and into the main dining room, Booth staked his usual seat out at the bar. Whether it was the tight set of his jaw or the lingering gleam of malice in his eyes, no one bothered him as he sank gratefully onto the padded leather stool. Sid looked up from where he was polishing a tumbler, meeting Booth's level gaze and offered him a nod before disappearing into the back. The larger than life bartender returned a short while later with a steaming cup of coffee, and set it down in front of his favorite brooding customer without saying a word.

Booth looked up with a quirked eyebrow "Coffee?"

"You're on duty." Sid replied, a brief smile twitching the corner of his goatee.

Booth shook his head in disbelief "How the hell did you know that?"

"You didn't take off your coat or tie. Plus you've got that look on your face. My waitresses are afraid of coming up here to get drink orders."

Booth looked down into the black, fragrant drink and smiled grimly "Sorry Sid, I'll try to be on my best behavior."

First Timers at Wong Foo's were usually intimidated by the large African-American bartender. Those that stuck around usually came to know Sid as a jovial man who's very nature made it impossible to take any but his most serious conversations with a grain of salt.

"Rough one, huh?" he muttered under his breath so that only Booth could hear.

"Yeah," Booth answered back without looking up "the kind with complications. I had to call in outside help on this one Sid, a bunch of squints over at the Jeffersonian."

Sid let out a low whistle "That's some kind of a place. You should take Parker to their dinosaur exhibit one weekend."

Booth shook his head "We've already been…twice! Besides, I'm not sure if I'll be allowed back in after this case. One of their bone people, Brennan I think, is taking a look at my john doe. She and I didn't exactly hit it off."

"I've seen Doctor Brennan before," Sid leered appreciatively "she usually comes in here with her boyfriend, Paul, Brian….something like that. He's a skinny little weasel turd, overly bookish and boring her to tears if I read her body language correctly."

"No wonder she's a shrew." Booth growled.

"She seems nice enough to me," Sid shrugged "but they both order from the menu so I haven't really had a chance to get to know them. I doubt she'd remember me from Adam."

"Consider yourself lucky then," Booth took a sip of his coffee and allowed the warming beverage to work its magic way through his body.

He smirked, Brennan would have probably lectured him, telling him that there was no such thing as magic and launching into an overly detailed account of the human digestive system. His smirk became a grimace as he wondered once again why he kept thinking about her. She was a hottie, no doubt about that, but there was something in the way she mothered her people, the way she included each of them in her world that Booth found oddly enduring…until she opened her mouth.

"God." He swore under his breath, half meaning it as a prayer of some sort.

Sid laughed "Here let me get you something to eat. Sounds like you've got an even longer night ahead. Duck fried rice with pressed duck breast and a pineapple mango chutney, just the thing to cure the blues."

Booth shook his head in wonder at his friend's talent of picking out exactly what food a person secretly craved. He didn't even know he liked duck or that he'd even been hungry in the first place, but Sid's description had his mouth watering. When the dish was placed in front of him, he knew he'd found heaven on a plate.

One satisfying meal and three cups of coffee later, Booth's pocket vibrated and he pulled his phone out before he even looked to see who was calling

"Booth." He answered letting a touch of weariness seep into his voice.

"Agent Booth," Brennan's smoky tone was fused with something he hadn't heard from her before "we've identified your john doe. I think it's best that you come back to the Jeffersonian."

"That bad?" Booth surprised himself by asking her candidly, and cringed as he waited for her to bite his head off.

"Yeah," she answered quietly instead "it's that bad."


	5. Chapter 5 The Meeting in the Lab

For the second time that night, Booth found himself in the Jeffersonian's vast loading dock. His memory between leaving Wong Foo's and arriving back at the receiving platform was spotty at best. Brennan's news, delivered in her maddeningly calm voice, hit him with all the gentleness of a freight train. If he were pressed by any of the curious dock workers who moved around him, he would have said that it was muscle memory alone that guided him past the security entrance and back to their workspace. Large blowers kept the dock snow and ice free, warming the air to a comfortable level, but the FBI agent only huddled back in his trench coat even more. He knew Brennan's team was waiting to give him a definitive briefing upstairs in the lab, but he couldn't bring himself to summon the elevator just yet. This case…_his case_…had suddenly become more complicated than Booth could've ever imagined. He couldn't decide if knowing Michael Bowers identity now was any better than waiting 6 more weeks for the FBI crime lab, and already relayed the bad news to his office. Cullen had only growled out something unpleasant about press, field days and wolves before he hung up the phone. Booth understood only all too clearly what his director had just intimated. A dead United States Marine found on the national mall was high profile enough to garner regional attention, but a Marine found dead months after he publicly came out on prime time television would likely draw national attention. With two wars still raging in the Middle East and what few gay rights that had been clawed out during the Clinton administration being quickly eroded under the more conservative Bush White House, it was a bet that Booth would have taken in his sleep. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as his headache erupted full time.

Michael Bowers was a hero, regardless of who he woke up next to in the morning, of that the FBI agent and ex-army sniper was absolutely certain. The young Marine was a victim, but experience taught Booth that both sides of the media would distort facets of Bowers' life to serve their own ravenous audiences. After today, regardless of what additional evidence was uncovered and publicized, no one would remember PFC Bowers the same way again.

"It's as if the kid died twice." He mumbled as he watched a departing truck's taillights grow smaller, and instantly wished he was on it.

"Yes," A cool voice to his right startled him, and he turned to see not Angela as he had expected, but Brennan watching the truck leave as well "the media will not be kind to his legacy."

He turned to face her, surprised that she and not the lovely artist had taken the time to look for him, and even more surprised that she had managed to sneak up on him.

He finally managed to recover enough to respond "No, they won't, and that's the worst part of this case. The kid gave his all to his country, and in a few short hours his country is going to repay him by destroying the one thing he had left…his name."

She was quiet, looking at him with those ice-crystal eyes that measured and evaluated everything. It was the same expression Booth had seen her use when she examined Bowers' remains. He strained against every muscle in his body to keep from shuddering. She was neither smiling nor indicating in any way that she found his input to be anything but valid. It was a turnaround in behavior as shocking as it was slightly alluring.

"How do you do it?" he blurted out finally "with everything you have here in your lab, and in your safe little world, how do you not see their faces?" It had come out with more accusation than he'd intended, but he didn't regret the words.

Brennan shook her head, her long silky hair now free from its messy bun "But I do see their faces, Agent Booth. Furthermore, I know things about their life experiences, and often times their deaths, by examining their remains." She looked at him dead on once again "These things carve themselves into tissue and bone. They shape us; I would even go as far as to say they profile us. I know as a boy, he enjoyed a wide range of sports, but American football was his favorite. From his profession, I can surmise that Michael Bowers was a brave young man. The things he saw and must have done in the last year of his life are unimaginable to a great many. Perhaps I am unable to change what someone else is going to think of him, Agent Booth, but I know what I think of him and the very least I can do is honor his remains."

"And catch his killer." Booth whispered against his dry throat, unable to look away from her as she'd delivered her impassioned reply.

He was seized with an almost undeniable impulse to hug or touch the lovely doctor in front of him, but cautioned himself against it. Part of him knew it would be a quick end to whatever tenuous bond they had just forged.

Brennan, for her part, seemed a little taken aback at whatever emotion she'd just seen in his eyes and turned her head away "We're ready for you in the briefing room if you are prepared to go over our final results."

"Of course, Doctor Brennan," he wrapped his professionalism around him like a blanket and indicated that he would follow her to the elevator "I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I wanted to thank you and your team for your assistance."

Brennan nodded once as she stepped into the heated lift "I must also admit some fault, Agent Booth. I allowed a set of preconceived notions and negative prior experiences with the FBI to color my objectivity where you were concerned."

Booth offered her a smile "You could just say, "Apology accepted." "

This time he was rewarded as Brenan relaxed and voice a throaty laugh "Apology accepted then, Agent Booth."

Brennan stepped out of the elevator, feeling slightly off kilter and blaming it on her lack of dinner. It certainly had nothing to do with the brilliant smile Agent Booth had just graced her with. Despite the fact that it had been the first time she had ever seen him smile, it was otherwise unremarkable. She didn't want to spend too much time evaluating her sudden infatuation with how boyish it made him look, nor the dimples that creased his cheeks. She turned from him just a little too quickly and showed him down the catwalk to a glass walled conference room.

Booth followed at an even distance. He was forced to admit as much as her personality chaffed and stymied him, something about the coolly independent doctor appealed to him.

"Agent Booth," a deep cultured voice pulled Booth from his private musings and he looked up to see a very well tailored man meeting them at the conference room door "Doctor Daniel Goodman, Director of the Jeffersonian. I'm sorry that we have to meet under these…circumstances."

Booth shook the offered hand, but couldn't help to wonder would he be meeting Goodman at all if Brennan's team had identified his john doe as a bum.

"Thank you Dr. Goodman, the Bureau appreciates your cooperation. Doctor Brennan's help has been monumental in my efforts." Out of the corner of his eye, Booth thought he caught a fleeting smile on Brennan's lips before he continued on "I've already informed my director what to expect. He isn't thrilled, but then again I don't think that's in any of our immediate futures."

Goodman nodded "Our press office is use to this kind of rough and tumble. Discoveries of any sort usually come with some sort of professional controversy, though I dare say this will put them through their paces." He looked to Brennan as they entered the conference room and took their respective seats "Are your findings conclusive, Doctor Brennan?"

To Booth it sounded like more of a statement than a question, but Brennan nodded her affirmative "Yes, DNA evidence recovered from the victim confirms the identity of Private First Class Michael Bowers. Ms. Montenegro's sketch is very similar to photographs of the victim. We were also able to salvage enough teeth for odontology to perform a positive match. PFC Bowers' remains as well as what was left of his clothing items were examined for particulates by Doctor Hodgins. After learning everything we possibly could at this stage, the remaining tissue was debrided and I commenced an in-depth review of the victim's skeletal damage with Mr. Addy's assistance. "

Goodman nodded thoughtfully "And what did you learn?"

"According to insect activity," Hodgins spoke up "PFC Bowers died shortly after he appeared on 60 minutes. I'd place time of death between five to six months ago, but he wasn't originally killed in the steam tunnel."

Booth straightened up suddenly "Say again?"

"I uncovered trace evidence that PFC Bowers had been moved into the steam tunnel as little as two months ago." Hodgins shrugged, obviously sure of his work. "His remains were coated with soil particulates containing a specific blend of nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus…lawn fertilizer, and high concentrations of it."

"Isn't it possible that PFC Bowers came into contact with that on the National Mall?" Booth asked, thinking of the long green swath that blanketed the way to the Whitehouse.

"Possible," Hodgins admitted "but not very likely in these concentrations. If he'd been murdered and left in the steam tunnel to decompose, I'd have seen evidence of a lot more rodent activity, plus iron oxide from the tunnel itself. As it stands, the iron oxide was a power thin coat on the outside, very scant trace, and rodent activity was minimal. Wherever Private Bowers was for the previous four months, it was underground."

"A six foot deep hole on the National Mall would have been noticed." Angela supplied.

"I also found evidence of plastic coated threads…your victim was most likely wrapped in a tarp." Hodgins was looking right at Booth when he finished.

"A tarp? Like the one I can pick up at Home Depot?"

Hodgins shook his head "This tarp was coated with a very specific UV resistant polymer, and the plastic was marine quality. It was probably used to cover a boat, an RV or something that was meant to be outdoors for a long period of time."

"You can be that specific?" Booth asked, flabbergasted.

Hodgins offered him a wry grin "If I had more time, I'd probably be able to narrow it down to the manufacturer, G-man."

"It's not much," Booth admitted "but it's more than I had when I got here. What about cause of death?"

He looked to Brennan who he found watching him once more with her appraising eyes. It reminded him of his childhood in Catholic School, and he tried not to squirm in his chair.

"The victim died as a result of massive blunt force trauma." Brennan replied, finally shifting her focus to some x-rays that had been placed on a light board

"A radial fraction pattern as well as staining on the bone indicates Private Bowers was incapacitated with a blow to the ribcage that caused a puncture to his right lung."

Brennan took a deep breath before continuing "The next series of blows fractured his pelvis and cracked two vertebras. The killing blow fractured his skull which caused his brain to swell and hemorrhage."

She turned to face him, concern showing through her normally impenetrable mask "I'm sorry Agent Booth; his death was neither merciful or quick. Private Bowers suffered greatly."

"Do you have any idea what killed him?" Booth asked quietly.

"Analysis of the impact trauma indicates a solid object," Zach answered "round, not over 2 and 3/4ths inches in diameter, nor more than 42 inches in length.

Marks on the victim's skeleton further show the object is tapered." He held up a baseball bat "This seems the most likely candidate."

"Oh my god." Angela whispered softly, her expression a mixture of disgust and anguish.

"Oh my god is right," Booth shook his head slowly "this has all the markers of a hate crime."


	6. Chapter 6 The Fire and the Ice

Angela could not escape the feeling of surrealism as she took one last look around her office before turning out her light. The delicate Mayan scrolls she had spent hours tediously unrolling were still laying on her worktable, just where she had left them before lunch. Outside, in the central lab, members of the evening shift were quietly assuming their duties, picking up where their daytime counterparts had left off. Angela shook her head in an attempt to clear the miasma; it was as if today never happened. As she gathered her purse and keys, she reflected that it seemed if the horror she'd been subsequently privy to after lunch didn't so much as warrant a blip on the Jeffersonian's radar. Tomorrow would be business as usual, and only the three other people whom she had come to think of as her work family would ever know any different.

Booth had left shortly after their final report, explaining that he had one or two loose ends to tie up before ending his night. His face might as well have been carved from stone, all dark and brooding in a way that made the artist's insides feel squirmy. He seemed to take Bowers' death personally, and Angela briefly wondered if he treated all of his cases this way. Though she hadn't spent a great deal of time in his presence, she had very little trouble picturing Seeley Booth as the FBI's version of Clark Kent. That image brought to mind another picture of the hunky agent ripping open his tightly buttoned shirt, and Angela's lips curled into a lopsided grin as she passed no one in particular.

She paused long enough at Brennan's office to stick her head in and bid her friend a goodnight. "Sweetie, it's past eleven. Are you going home anytime soon?"

Brennan spared her a tight smile before turning back to her computer "Hey Ange, yes very shortly. I just wanted to rework a couple of chapters."

"Brennan," Angela rolled her eyes "I'm sure it can keep till tomorrow."

"It almost is tomorrow." Brennan retorted, her fingers not slowing.

"You know I was only kidding about the writer's block, right?" Angela removed her scarf and sank down in a chair opposite Brennan's huddled form.

"No," Brennan looked up to her friend once again "you were right. I'd written myself into a corner and I didn't know where to go from there. I guess you could say I had an epiphany of sorts today. I needed to get it down on paper."

Angela repressed the urge to smile and simply nodded instead, impressed that Brennan had slowly opened up her creative side. To the young artist, it added yet another texture to their often complex friendship. She understood the quiet scientist better than most, perhaps even better than her live in boyfriend, Peter.

"What a day, huh?" Angela asked with a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

Brennan looked back down at the keyboard, but didn't resume typing "Today was…challenging," she admitted as some of her mental fatigue began to peek through "I should feel rewarded that we were able to identify Private Bowers' remains, but I don't. I feel…I feel…" she looked up to Angela for guidance "incomplete."

Angela tried hard to keep the shocked expression off of her face. This single admission, from Brennan of all people, was stunning. Brennan, who adored her job and took pleasure from its infinite fine details, felt incomplete. Angela had never known her best friend to half-ass anything, and it was plainly obvious to anyone who had been present that she had been in top form today. Even with the distraction of Agent Booth's presence in her lab, Brennan never wavered, never faltered on anything. How could she still feel incomplete?

"Sweetie…to borrow your line, I don't understand? You did everything possible, we all did. We gave Booth his answers. Isn't that what you said he wanted?"

Brennan looked up again, this time a fleeting expression of shame crossed her delicate features "I was wrong about him."

"Oh." Angela didn't even both hiding the shock now. Doctor Temperance Brennan was reversing her opinion, and moreover it involved an extremely handsome man. "Bren, I could have told you that."

"He asked me how I could do it." Brennan gestured around her office "How I could do this and not see their faces. He cared Angela. It's not just a case to him. I did my due diligence, I told him what he needed to know, but did I actually help him? Did I help Private Bowers?"

"You gave Bowers a name and Booth a murder weapon," Angela reached out and laid her hand over Brennan's "that's more than either of them had before. The rest is up to Booth. We gave him the information. We did everything but help him catch the actual murderer."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully, though the small pinch of worry didn't quite fade from her brow "Peter called tonight."

Angela's mind processed the shift in topics quickly, and she grimaced "What did he want?"

"He left a voice mail for me. He said if I couldn't bring myself home at a decent hour for dinner, then I shouldn't expect to find him waiting up me if I should finally make it there." Brennan said hollowly "He said 'if' I make it home like what I'm doing here invalidates our entire relationship."

"Asshole." Angela muttered under her breath "I'm sorry, sweetie. I really am."

She withdrew her hand and leaned over to pick up her purse "Wanna close up shop and come over to my place? We can paint each other's toenails and watch 'I Love Lucy' reruns on Nick at Night."

Brennan laughed tiredly "No, but thank you Ange." Her blue eyes sparkled with the sincerity of her words "I think I'm going to finish up here, go home and pass out."

Angela stood to leave and grinned "Suit yourself…but this weekend it's you, me Ethel and Lucy."

"I'd like that very much," Brenna confessed "I'll even bring Thai for us."

"It's a date then," Angela swung her scarf back into place "See you tomorrow."

Brennan had already turned back to her computer "Goodnight Ange."

Her mind raced as she stared at the monitor, thinking about Angela's words "_we did everything but help him catch the actual murderer_".

Resolve hit her as surely as a baseball bat hat hit Private Bowers. Hadn't her editor suggested she experience as much to do with her book as she possibly could? While she felt she possessed adequate knowledge about what it took to catch murderers, she had to confess that knowledge was lacking for any real world experience. Agent Booth seemed to be as passionate about the truth as she was. Perhaps he would consider….

Thursday Morning – 8:30am

Booth mustered a half hearted smile for the departmental receptionist when he stepped off of the elevator. He caught the worried expression behind her answering smile and quickly dropped his gaze to his coffee cup. He looked like hell, and he knew it. Midnight came and went before he'd even had a chance to see the inside of his apartment. When he finally did get home, sleep didn't come easily or quickly. Images of war juxtaposed with blaring slot machines danced behind his eyelids in his own personal movie of torment. After a quick 2 AM run and his second shower of the night, he'd finally collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion. The dreams that followed were only dimly remembered and melted away completely after dawn. Booth flipped on the television as he got ready for another day, and wasn't entirely surprised when the lead story was about his current and most pressing case.

D.C.'s rabid press corps were like a pack of wild dogs with a new bone, already circling the Hoover building with television vans. CNN was spouting off rehashed facts every five minutes, talking to everyone who'd had anything to do with Bowers and who were willing to talk about it. As he grabbed his coat to leave, he saw a very similar scene being played out at the Jeffersonian. His first thought was of the reclusive Doctor Brennan, and how much he hoped that she would be able to avoid this firestorm.

He found her to be a remarkably difficult person to read, but he had no doubt that if she were pulled into an interview about his case, he'd be lucky to ever talk to her again.

"Booth," he was startled out of his morning funk by the voice of a junior agent "you've got a visitor in your office."

"Already?" Booth looked at the agent questioningly, already feeling his mood shift from bad to worse "I just got in and I can't catch a fucking break!"

He sighed as he ran his free hand over his face "Thanks Charlie. I'll take it from here."

He almost dropped his coffee cup when he rounded the corner to his office and caught sight of the familiar figure with her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. "Doctor Brennan?"

"Agent Booth," she turned to face him with her typical unreadable expression and searching blue eyes "I wasn't certain what time you would be in this morning. I apologize if I was a little early."

"No!" Booth quickly deposited his mug and overcoat on his desk "Not at all. I'm sorry for all of the hoopla around your lab. To be honest it's the major reason I'm late, they're blocking a lot of major intersections. Can I get you something? Coffee?"

Brennan smiled lightly "Coffee would be acceptable, thank you."

"Charlie!" Booth called out as he indicated for her to have a seat "Coffee for Doctor Brennan."

Brennan saw the junior agent nod once to Booth before ducking back out of the office.

"What can I do for you this morning?" he asked as he settled into his chair.

Brennan looked down for a moment, as if she were gathering her resolve, before staring back up at him "I want to help you catch Bowers' murderer."

Booth stared at the beautiful woman sitting across from him for a fraction of a moment, letting her words echo in his head and not quite catching their underlying meaning.

"Doctor Brennan," he began carefully "the information you and your team provided me is invaluable. Normally, it would have taken me a lot more time to get to where I am right now. In every real sense, you've already helped me catch the murderer. "

Brennan nodded thoughtfully, as if she had expected this response "Rationally, I know that." She stated, leaving the implied 'but…' hanging between them like a knife.

An uneasy feeling started to form in the pit of Booth's stomach, he suddenly had a very good idea of what his unexpected guest wanted "Because of you, I have a direction. You have no idea how many days or weeks a field agent spends chasing his tail before something finally breaks."

Brennan sat forward now, an anxious intensity lighting her eyes. '_She's winding up for the pitch'_ Booth thought to himself grimly.

"I could be an asset to you in the field Agent Booth. The murderer is still out there, possibly with the weapon. I can help you identify certain markers that will make one suspect more likely than another."

Booth's mouth remained frozen in an 'O'. Though he'd seen it coming, he still couldn't quite believe what the good doctor was asking

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

He watched as her full lips pressed into a very familiar line and the intensity he'd noticed building in her eyes flashed like a warning. It was a look he'd become overly familiar with the first time he'd crossed the line in her lab. Things were about to get ugly.

"Can't or won't?" she asked, her warm voice began to slip into the cold, analytical tones she'd used on him at their first meeting.

"It's a mixture of both." Booth answered honestly, fighting down a surge of irritation.

Brennan tilted her head up ever so slightly, and it made her look haughty "May I ask why? My assistance has been invaluable to you up to this point. Would it not be logical to assume that my presence will only continue to be beneficial?"

"Despite the fact that it's against regulations?" Booth asked, his sarcasm masked the disappointment he felt at loosing whatever esteem the lovely doctor had found in him. "It's because you're a civilian."

"The FBI utilizes civilian consultants in the field every day, and the Jeffersonian is, at least partially, a publicly funded institution. I am just as much an employee of the government as you." Brennan pleaded her case, not quite ready to change back into the skeleton analyzing machine from yesterday.

"When circumstances don't allow for a specific skill set, yes the FBI will call in a civilian." Booth allowed, then gestured to the open cubicles outside of his office door "Out there is an army of agents who are trained investigators. If I need the help, they will follow up on leads. There's no need of civilian help in this matter." He sighed and allowed himself to sink back against his chair "Doctor Brennan, you are an asset to me, and the place you can help me most is back in your lab."

Brennan dispelled the dread filling the pit of her stomach. In times like these she was forced to depend on the one thing that had never let her down…reason. Yet, some part of her still believed in the decency of the man in front of her. The raw emotions he'd displayed on the loading dock had been honest. Though she was no judge of people, her limited expertise told her Agent Booth had more than just time invested in this case.

That absolute certainty gave her the strength to voice her next question "Is it because I'm a woman?"

Booth laughed bitterly "That would be pretty convenient wouldn't it? Slap a guy with the fact that you're a woman, and watch him roll over because he's afraid he'll get called on the carpet for being sexist. Pardon my French, but that shit won't fly here, Doctor Brennan. Look out in that office. A little under half of the agents in my department are women. Now, I'm sure that you are the best in your field, and no disrespect, but I'm not sure you have the slightest idea what goes on out in the real world."

"The real world…" Brennan sneered back at him "would that be the one where I spent a summer excavating genocide victims in Darfur, or the one where I had to sift through World Trade Center wreckage to identify parts…any parts… for grieving families to bury? Please enlighten me, I'm a little confused."

Booth found himself gaping as the anger radiated off her in waves. Two things became very clear to him in that moment: Regardless of her initial impression, Temperance Brennan wasn't as sheltered as she led everyone to believe, and she wasn't used to hearing the word "no" very often. He kept his own anger in check, ignoring the headache that did its level best to obliterate the inside of his skull.

"No," Booth replied just a little too calmly "it's the one where you get me, or worse, yourself killed because you aren't a trained FBI agent."

"I'm a black belt in no less than three martial arts, Agent Booth," Brennan dismissed his concerns with a toss of her head "I assure you that I am perfectly capable of defending myself."

"Sister," Booth growled "it's the guy with the gun I'm worried about."

"We are NOT related." Brennan spat coldly as she snatched her purse off the floor "This is exactly as I anticipated. It was naive of me to believe you were any different. I was nothing more than a functional tool for you. A means to an end. Like your predecessors, Agent Booth, all you wanted are your answers. Well I hope you found them to your liking!"

With that she stormed out of his office, pushing past a very flustered Charlie as she rounded the corner towards the elevators. The junior agent cringed as he caught sight of Booth leaning on his desk, his head buried in his hands.

"Um…Booth," at that moment Charlie had a very intimate notion of how Daniel felt entering the lion's den "is there…."

"GOD DAMN IT!" Booth snatched up two fists full of paper and hurled them in the general direction of his trash can.

"Yeah…" Charlie looked at the foam cup he'd been carrying for the beautiful woman who'd just flown past him, knowing full well Booth could see it too "well, I've got some reports to go over…if you need me just…let me know."

Charlie turned and made as dignified a beeline as he could possibly muster back to his desk. All the while he could feel a pair of smoldering brown eyes drilling through his back.

30 Minutes Later…

Traffic along 7th Street was reduced to crawling in both south and north bound lanes. News vans from every major local, national and cable network had entrenched themselves around the national mall as well as all points of interest in between. Though she considered herself a rational human being, Temperance Brennan found her rage boiling over as she laid on her horn adding to the growing cacophony along the clogged avenue. Rational people did not experience road rage, they simply found alternate routes. Of course, rational people did not allow themselves to be goaded into arguments by deceptively charming FBI agents either. That thought only served to rankle her further as she angrily swept a hand through her loose hair. When exactly had she begun to think of Special Agent Seeley Booth as 'charming'?

Thirty minutes into what would've normally been a fifteen minute commute; she finally broke down and made the inevitable call.

"YOU DID WHAT?" Angela's voice nearly overwhelmed the capacity of her speakerphone.

"Angela," Brenna snapped "there is no need to shout. This phone is very clear and my hearing is exceptional."

She heard the unmistakable sound of her friend's long suffering sigh "Brennan, you need to get back to the lab, like now. We need to talk."

"There's nothing to discuss." Brennan glared forward at the still distant Jeffersonian. As much as she loathed the idea of continuing work on Booth's case, she could not deny the fact that it had captured her interest more than Pre-Columbian remains.

"Ask Hodgins to pull particulates from the remaining hair samples we gathered last night and compare them to known brands of lawn fertilizer. Get Zach to assist him, if it will help the process along. If we can narrow down the specific type…."

"Sweetie, you know I love it when you blow me off for work." Angela purred, sounding anything but pleased.

"When you get back here, you and I are going to get some coffee. Then we're going into your office and shut the door for a nice long girly talk session. Zach and Hodgins have everything else under control." Angela's tone booked no arguments.

Brennan knew if she didn't acquiesce, her overly determined best friend would probably let the air out of her tires and stage a protest slumber party in her office…again.

"Fine." She grumbled "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Her anger abated somewhat when the call ended, restoring her objectivity along with a healthy dose of guilt. She had effectively done the exact same thing to Booth that she had accused him of yesterday. She had barged into his place of business, anthropologically his domain, made her demands and lost her temper when he'd called her out on it. Examining his argument logically, she could see his points were valid, yet it still infuriated her that Booth refused to even consider her side. In his well ordered view of the world, FBI agents belonged fighting crime whilst scientists toiled away safely in the lab. Hadn't he just accused her of not being worldly? The very idea made her scoff, and she could feel the anger building within her once again.

Brennan sighed, she really had to get this under control before she stepped foot in the lab. Agent Booth had managed, in some respect, to work his way under her skin, and while the tacit scientist didn't lend much credence to the idea of a 'sixth sense', Angela seemed to have an uncanny knack of picking up on the slightest change in someone's emotions. Brennan did not wish to prolong her 'girly talk' ordeal any longer than necessary.

The radio offered her no solace as nearly every station carried news of Bowers' death. Her frustration deepened, and she began to try a technique that had worked for her during those long arduous days of graduate work. Clearing her mind, she imagined a complete human skeleton and began to silently and methodically name every bone from memory. Sooner than she'd expected, she was pulling into her assigned parking spot. She dismissed the imaginary skeleton construct as easily as she had formed it, and stepping out of her car into the grey, cold morning, she felt much more in control. That ended the moment she saw him.

Booth leaned against the door of a large, black SUV, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. A few errant flakes of snow, the first of many today judging by the sky, settled on his broad shoulders and short, spiky hair. The scowl plastered to his chiseled features suggested that his mood was as black as his trench coat. Brennan was amazed that eyes as warm and brown as his could burn like coals, but they did and they were focused completely on her. He straightened up as she approached, still keeping his arms crossed. There were no more questions from him, no accusatory statements, and no more acerbic comments. He merely looked at her with that burning gaze and jerked his chin towards his SUV.

"Get in." he growled in a voice that made her shiver once.

Brennan set her jaw and glared back at him stubbornly "Why?"

"Very simple Bones," he replied "you're going to help me catch a murderer."


	7. Chapter 7 The Initials on the Table

**A/N: I'd like to take an opportunity and thank my reviewers and the folks who have alerted to my little fic (both new and old alike). It's good to know that it's still relevant ****. For the true grammarians out there, I apologize for my use and abuse of the American English version of the language. I tend to write (especially my dialogue) in the same way I hear people talk. God bless our little hearts, but we are not grammatically correct people any longer. Believe me, as a closet grammarian I too shudder at the de-evolution of our dear spoken word (don't get me started on texting…bleh). Apologies again…and yes that sound you hear is my second grade English teacher, Diane Stevens, telling me to bend over her checkered apron ;).**

_"This is Christy with your DC101 rockin' weather forecast. Get ready DC, old man winter is finally here in a major way. Seriously…go look outside people IT'S SNOWING! News on the Nine's chief meteorologist, Paul Sandstrom, tells us it's gonna be a looooong cold one tonight, so be sure to bring in your plants and your pets…."_

They traveled in silence, Booth's dark eyes focused on the road ahead, though Brennan could not tell if it was from lingering anger or concentration because of the weather. For her part, she glanced out of the passenger side window, trying to gauge exactly where he was taking her. As the city skyline graduated into wooded suburbs, snow continued to fall in gentle flurries and Brennan felt her patience with her companion's silence begin to wane. Though Booth was certainly angry at her, it did not appear as if he intended her any harm. Periodically, she found her gaze wondering back over to him. His solid frame hadn't moved, and the handsome lines of his countenance remained frozen in the same expression of quiet fury he'd worn since picking her up.

Temperance Brennan was one of those people you could just "feel" when they walked into a room. Every time she glanced his way, Booth could feel her looking at him, and it did nothing to settle the turmoil his thoughts were in. Brennan was a major reason those thoughts were in turmoil to begin with. Her presence in his office this morning had put him off guard, as had her unorthodox request. He'd been warned about her mercurial temper, but seeing a train coming and making it off the tracks were two completely different things. Not only did the train plow into him, but Booth suddenly found himself being swept down the tracks leaving his sanity and quite possibly his job in its wake. He wanted to open his mouth, wanted to say something to her, but cringed internally at the words that immediately sprang to mind. They'd be no further along than they were when she'd stormed out of his office.

After Charlie left, Booth had flipped on the small television he kept on a filing cabinet. It was tuned automatically to Chanel 9 News, and he wasn't surprised to find Bowers' case still the lead story. He'd picked up the dead private's missing persons folder and thumbed through it, hoping to stuff his head with enough facts that it would block out the lingering scent of Brennan's perfume. The morning anchorman had decided to wax editorial about Bowers remains being given a military funeral when Booth decided he needed air…either that or he was going to put his fist through his television and the news castor' smug pixilated face.

Cold morning air filled his lungs as he emerged onto the bustling street, and it brought with it a moment of clarity. He altered his path turning towards the Hoover Building's parking garage instead of the reporter clogged street. Bowers needed an ally at the moment, which meant Booth needed an ally. The agent's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. He needed someone who wouldn't be swayed by all the media claptrap, someone who had Bowers best interest at heart, someone who could look at things rationally and objectively…. It had come to Booth then, and he groaned in frustration. His best possible ally was currently headed back to the Jeffersonian royally pissed off at him and perfectly happy to forget that he'd ever existed. A quick call on his cell phone, and he'd determined that Brennan hadn't made it back to the lab yet. He quickened his pace, reasoning that she'd probably taken the most direct route, 7th street, which was clogged with news vans at the moment. If he hurried, and took side streets, he may be able to catch her before she went inside…and beyond his reach.

_"You're making a big mistake here Seeley."_ He told himself _"If she gets hurt out there, you'll be lucky to get a job as an FBI file clerk."_

"Why did you call me that?" Brennan's voice startled him out of his memories.

Booth finally shifted his gaze over to her "What?"

"You called me Bones earlier," she reiterated "why?"

"Calling you Doctor Brennan every five minutes is a pain in the ass." He confessed "I needed something short to call you. You work with bones, so I called you Bones. It's a nickname."

"I see." She appeared to mull it over for a moment before shaking her head "Bones are not the sum totality of my existence, Agent Booth. Please call me Doctor Brennan, or just Brennan if you must."

Booth chuckled darkly and turned his attention back to the icy road "Whatever you say Bones."

"You're being childish." She muttered and turned back to her window.

"I'm being childish?" Booth's voice was incredulous "Did you hear yourself this morning? Were we sitting in the same room? You blew out of my office like we were in divorce court for Christ's sake!"

He spared her another glance and was somewhat gratified to see the look of shame that crossed Brennan's face.

"My actions this morning were regrettable." She admitted tersely "However, I feel that my request was reasonable, and would have saved us at least an hour's worth of time this morning if you had simply acquiesced to start with."

"Wow." Booth smirked "Was that an 'I told you so' Bones? Because, It sure sounded like an 'I told you so' to me." He grew serious once again "Look, there's nothing reasonable about this. I stand by what I told you. Fieldwork is dangerous, and it's no place for an untrained civilian." She started to protest and he raised his voice to talk over her "I know, I know. You're a tenth level ninjitsu grand master blah, blah blah. Until you've been in a situation where you've got to make a critical decision based on those skills to defend your life and possibly the life of someone else, you are untrained. I will consider you untrained, and as the only law enforcement officer in this vehicle, I'm the one who gets to make that decision. Understood?"

Brennan glared daggers at him, and if looks could kill, Booth was fairly certain she'd have a lethal weapon on her hands. After a moment, she relented and turned once more to look sulkily out of her window. He could have been mistaken but he thought he caught her muttering something about 'alpha male tendencies'. They drove in tense silence for another mile or so before she spoke again.

"Why did you come after me?"

"I'm sorry?" Booth asked, genuinely confused by the lull of the road.

"If you still believe this…partnership to be such a terrible idea, why come after me at all?"

Booth huffed a grudging sigh "Because, like it or not, I need you Bones. There are some good people working at the Bureau, and there are some people who see it as a stepping stone. The trick is figuring out who's who." He darted another quick look "I don't have the time or energy to divert my focus away from this investigation, especially for something as inane as departmental politics. I need an ally, someone who believes in the facts of this case like I do, and I think that ally is you."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully "Very well Agent Booth. Apology accepted once more. Should I arm myself now or wait until we arrive on scene?"

"Apology accepted…wait…what?" Booth fought the urge to slam on brakes "Arm yourself? No you may not arm yourself! You're a civilian consultant, and civilian consultants do not carry guns. If you have a gun with you right now, either it stays in the vehicle when we get out or you do. Got it?"

"But you just said fieldwork was highly dangerous." Brennan argued smoothly "Should a situation arise where I would need to defend myself, would it not make sense for me to be armed?"

"If anyone needs shooting," Booth growled "I'll be the one doing it. Do we have an understanding? Otherwise I'll take you back to DC right now."

The FBI agent could actually see his companion weighing her odds before answering "Your terms, though archaic and misogynistic, are acceptable. Now, where exactly are you taking me? Have you uncovered additional evidence for me to review?"

"Not exactly," Booth opened an attaché case at his side without looking and pulled out a thick manila envelope. "I pulled Bowers' missing persons file last night. NCIS turned the investigation over to the FBI without so much as a protest, although I did have to deal with some hard ass named Gibbs. Actually he didn't sound like a bad guy, but someone higher up on the food chain felt since the kid was about to be court-martialed they'd let us have the ball."

Brennan rifled through a few pages, with her familiar look of concentration "There doesn't seem to be a lot of forensics on the original investigation. The report is thorough and very well done though. No blood or abnormal trace evidence to indicate any kind of struggle at Bower's apartment or in his vehicle." Her eyes glanced over the open folder to look at Booth "That would support Doctor Hodgins' theory that your victim was killed elsewhere. The kind of damage his x-rays indicate would have led to perfuse bleeding. Head wounds especially produce tremendous amounts of blood. Is this what you would like for me to do? Meet with NCIS and go over the forensics from their case?"

"That's not a bad idea," Booth replied "but no. We're going to interview the person who reported him missing and go from there...he still lived with his family before he shipped out."

A look of abject terror washed over Brennan's face "His family reported him missing? Am I to understand that we will be speaking with his family?"

Booth noted the panic in her voice that she took great efforts to conceal "Yes and no. I am going to interview the family while you do your anthropology thing. You've given me an idea of what killed Bowers and what kind of force it took to do it with. I want you to keep an eye open for anything that sticks out to you. Think of it as building me a profile. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Do my anthropology thing as you put it." Brennan nodded "I think I can manage that."

"Good." Booth almost sighed in relief as he felt the tension between them ease somewhat, though he could see Brennan's features were still troubled.

If his crazy, and he didn't delude himself that this little venture was anything BUT crazy, plan was going to succeed, he needed Brennan to be focused. He could sense some kind of potential in her, and she was a hell of a lot better looking than Charlie, but if he didn't get her mind back on the case she'd be even more of a liability to him than he'd imagined.

"Here," he reached into the briefcase between them and pulled out another manila folder "take a look through Bowers' missing persons file. His father is a former Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant, now retired. Sergeant Bowers was raked over the coals pretty hard by the press when Michael went missing, and he moved to a suburb in Virginia after everything settled. It took some doing, but the Bureau tracked him down. We'll probably get a chance to talk to him before the press arrives."

"It says the Gunnery Sergeant is a widower, his wife died of complications resulting from breast cancer just before Michael's senior year. He has one younger daughter, Libby and an older son named James who is also in the Marine Corps. This is a single parent household, Booth. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you to go into that situation and talk to them."

Booth took a deep breath, hoping that if he allowed some little bit of himself to show it would finally calm Brennan down. "It's not one of my favorite parts of the job, especially when there's a kid involved. I don't care what any of the experts say, Bones. No parent is ever really prepared to hear their child died before them."

Brennan looked at him searchingly for a moment and Booth swore that he could see the amazing speed her intellect moved at behind those pale blue colored eyes. She seemed as if she were going to say something else before turning back to her window and muttering.

"Don't call me Bones."

The Bowers home was a one story ranch house complete with a whitewashed split rail fence and neatly trimmed juniper hedges. A light dusting of snow gave the evergreen shrubs a Christmassy feel even though it wasn't yet Thanksgiving. Brennan shivered as she stepped out into the weather, and told herself it was just the cold as she looked at a wreath of fall colored leaves that had been hung against the house's bright red door. It all looked so happy.

Booth took a deep breath and let it stream out in a cloud of vapor. The winter air seemed to steel his resolve. He was here with an untrained civilian, nothing left to do but move forward and ring the doorbell. He ignored the bright yellow ribbons fluttering from each gatepost as he walked around the front of his SUV to stand beside Brennan. Her expression was observant, calculating like it had been in the lab, but it was tempered by a faint trace of sadness.

"Are you ready for this?" He asked, surprised once again by the strong urge to touch or comfort her.

"Probably not," Brennan admitted, her voice now distant "but I am prepared to deal with whatever happens. There is no need to worry on my account, Agent Booth."

Booth watched as she drew her coat tighter about her lithe form and her jaw set with the same fierce determination she'd displayed in his office before they started up the snow covered drive.

"I loved my son, Agent Booth." The elder Bowers stated as he clutched his coffee cup tighter.

The interior of Bowers' home was as well cared for as the outside. Light colored walls and blond pine floors made the small house feel larger than it actually was. The same could be said of Gunnery Sergeant Philip Bowers. From the moment his father had answered the door, Brennan could see where Michael had inherited his exceptional appearance. The elder Bowers was tall, still in very decent shape and had more blond that grey in his short cropped hair. They were seated at a faux shaker style dining set that had no doubt witnessed its share of family dinners as Booth gently questioned the obviously grieving father.

Brennan's fingers found and had began to trace a faint carving of two initials that had been scratched into the table's soft wood. From the buildup of furniture polish it had been done some time ago, and she was startled by a quiet laugh.

"He did that when he was five years old." Philip Bowers was looking at her, but his gaze dropped to where her fingers hovered over the initials 'MB'. "I got so mad at him…, but Joyce, my wife, well you would have thought it was a Picasso…."

Bowers looked down again, his jaw and neck muscles straining against the sob that threatened to break his control at any moment "he was…he was so scared when he told me, you know. I think if Joyce had been alive, I probably would have never known. He was a senior in high school, and all that day I could tell he had something on his mind."

"Your son admitted to you that he was homosexual?" Booth asked, his piercing brown eyes never wavering from the Sergeant's face.

"Not in so many words," Bowers eyes shifted over to a family photograph that had been hung nearby "but a father knows, Agent Booth." He turned to look at Booth once again, meeting the Agent's level gaze "A father knows, and I was alright with it."

"That's…very open minded of you." Brennan blurted out.

Bowers smiled ruefully "Oh, don't think I didn't cry myself to sleep that night, Doctor Brennan. I'm not that strong, but I eventually came to some kind of understanding. I loved my boy, and nothing about him would ever change that. It was a long road."

"How did the kids at Michael's school handle it?" Booth's eyes shifted over to Brennan for a quick second to see how she was holding up before returning to Bowers.

"He kept pretty low key about it. If he dated anybody, I never knew about it. Back in those days I made it pretty clear to him that I was fine with his orientation, but that didn't mean I wanted it smacking me in the face." Bowers blushed slightly "It seems kind of stupid now."

Booth nodded, jotting down a quick note in his notebook "Do you know of anyone else Michael would have gone to, other than yourself, sir? Perhaps his older brother."

The Gunny shook his head "No. Mike idolized James, they were close but James was sent to Afghanistan before Mike's senior year. It wasn't my secret to tell, so I stayed quiet until that 60 Minutes story aired. James was just as shocked as everyone else."

A quiet voice uttered "Mike played football daddy."

Libby Bowers padded into the room and draped both of her arms over her father's broad shoulders before planting a kiss on his cheek. She was pretty in the way a teenage girl can be pretty, fresh faced with her silky blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Bowers reached up and clasped her hands to his chest, seeming to draw quiet strength from her presence.

"Mike played football, he was quarterback on the varsity squad." She supplied and smiled briefly in memory. "He was pretty talented, his coach even talked about having him work out for a college scout."

Philip Bowers nodded quietly "He was pretty tight with his coach…Bill Simons I think was his name. I don't know how close, but it's possible he may have gone to him as well."

"Do you think Mike's death had something to do with him being gay?" Libby asked wide eyed.

Brennan took a breath to reply but caught Booth looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

"That's certainly an option." Booth looked down at his notes to spare himself the knowing looks he could feel from father and daughter.

"I did guard duty for a couple of forensic anthropologists in Bosnia a few years ago, Doctor Brennan." Booth's eyes shot up as he watched Philip bowers address his unorthodox partner. "I know what it is you do. Tell me…" he took a deep breath before continuing "did my boy suffer?"

A look of panic crossed Brennan face once again before disappearing quickly behind her mask "His death was violent," she confirmed, looking down at the table "his attacker did not give him the opportunity to fight back."

Bowers' lips tightened as he fought back a fresh wave of grief "He was attacked by a coward."

Brennan shook her head "I have no way of determining that at this time, but I promise you that I will do everything I can to help Agent Booth find out."

Bowers' eyes shot back to Booth, appraising the young agent and seeming to like what he saw "Find out what happened to my boy Agent Booth. Find out and make the bastard pay, you hear me?"


End file.
